


[Aussie] Jingle Bells

by kjack89



Series: Twelve Days of Christmas Giveaway Fics [8]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-07 04:43:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1115644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a particularly nasty fight, Grantaire goes home for a few days, only to find out that Enjolras has been waiting for him to return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	[Aussie] Jingle Bells

**Author's Note:**

  * For [besanii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/besanii/gifts).



> Usual disclaimer.
> 
> The name of this one has remarkably little (which is to say basically none) to do with the plot of this fic, BUT it applies to the ever wonderful and Australian besanii, who prompted this.

No one quite knew what Enjolras and Grantaire were, least of all Enjolras and Grantaire. At best, they were fuck buddies who fell into bed together every now and then; at worst, they were perhaps as close to arch nemeses as someone found in the real world, constantly antagonizing the other and at each other’s throats.

They definitely weren’t together, but then again, they weren’t exactly  _not_ together, either. Combeferre had once tried to explain their relationship and wound up half an hour later completely red in the face and out of words to use.

The one thing that had changed since this whole convoluted disaster waiting to happen had started was that their arguments were not quite as vicious as usual, with neither willing to go as far as he normally did when it came to proving his point, if only because it was difficult to ask someone to come home with you if only twenty minutes previous you had almost driven that individual to the point of tears. So their arguments softened, their fights were briefer, and they made up — and made out — far more frequently.

Until one day, at least, when the argument was vicious, and hurtful, and didn’t seem to have any sort of make up in sight.

The entire thing had started with Grantaire, who had just wanted to tell Enjolras that he was going to be going out of town for about a week to visit his family for Christmas. Not, of course, that he felt obligated to tell Enjolras anything, since they  _weren’t_  together, but he figured he’d at least do him the courtesy of letting him know he wouldn’t be at this week’s meeting.

Of course, he’d picked a bad time to do so — Enjolras was deeply engrossed in reading over an article, and Grantaire skimmed it over Enjolras’s shoulder as he waited for an opportunity to talk to him, and made the mistake of snorting. Enjolras swiveled around to fix him with a glare. “Is something funny?” he asked, his voice calm (too calm, which should have been Grantaire’s first warning).

“Nothing’s funny,” Grantaire told him, just barely managing to avoid rolling his eyes. “But if you think that the judge’s decision in Utah somehow means that we’ve ‘won’ there, you’ve got an unhealthy dose of reality coming, because it means jack shit in the long run.”

This comment was the catalyst to the worst argument that Enjolras and Grantaire had had in several weeks, the kind that truly did start with a point, arguing over the impact of the ruling on same sex marriage in Utah, but that quickly devolved into back and forth shouting and accusations of all varieties and most importantly, intentionally trying to hurt the other as much as possible.

By the end of it, Enjolas and Grantaire were standing mere inches apart, both of their faces red as they yelled at each other. Enjolras was the one to take a step back, his eyes flashing, his chest heaving from the exertion of shouting as much as they had been, and after a quick moment to collect himself, he asked stiffly, “Why did you come here today? Was it just to piss me off, or did you actually have a reason?”

Grantaire glared at him, his blood pounding loudly in his ears. “I did come here with a purpose,” he snarled, taking a step back as well. “But honestly, it doesn’t even matter, because it’s not like you give a fuck anyway.”

With that, he turned on heel and marched away, too pissed off to even care if Enjolras watched him as he went, and far too angry to bother turning back to catch one last glimpse of him either.

* * *

 

His plane left early the next morning, and he was still angry when he boarded, and still angry when he landed. His sour mood was, of course, not helped by being with his family, which was always a trying affair. He had hoped to be able to text Enjolras while he was gone, but with their fight still hanging between them, there was little chance of that.

Though he made it all the way through lunch without tearing his hair out, he was just about to go crazy when his phone rang, and he held onto it like a lifeline. “Hello?”

“You’re never going to guess who’s here.” Jehan was on the other end, and Grantaire let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding, equal parts disappointed and relieved that it wasn’t Enjolras calling. Jehan was housesitting for him, using the few days away from his roommates in the quiet of Grantaire’s place to get some work done, so it made sense he’d be calling.

Of course, that didn’t mean that what he was calling about made any sense, and Grantaire asked curiously, “Who’s at my place besides you?”

“Enjolras,” Jehan told him, sounding delighted and conspiratorial at the same time, and Grantaire sank down onto his bed, gripping his phone even tighter.

“Enjolras?” he repeated. “Did you let him in? Did he say what he wanted?” He didn’t bother asking if Jehan had let Enjolras know where he was; Jehan was loyal and would figure that if Grantaire hadn’t told Enjolras where he was, he must not want Enjolras to know.

Jehan hesitated for a moment before saying, “No, he rang the doorbell but I didn’t answer, just called you. I mean, I figure he’ll be back, right? So what do you want me to tell him when he does come back? I’m assuming he doesn’t know where you are — do you want me to tell him?”

Grantaire was quick, too quick, in blurting, “No, don’t tell him that.” Silence fell between them as Grantaire scrambled for some kind of reasonable explanation, and settled for an approximation of the truth. “We kind of had a bit of a fight,” he admitted. “I figure it will do Enjolras good to stew on it.”

“Oh.” In that single syllable, Jehan somehow managed to sound at once wise, understanding, sympathetic, and infinitely disappointed. “I thought…well, I thought that you and he were getting along these days.”

Shrugging, Grantaire said softly, “I thought we were, too. Should’ve known that it wouldn’t last.” He forced a dry chuckle. “I can’t have anything good without screwing it up.”

Jehan’s tone was dark as he replied, “It takes two to screw something like this up, Grantaire.” He was silent for a moment before sighing heavily and telling Grantaire, “Alright, well I’ll just tell him that you aren’t here. Do you at least want me to tell him when you’ll be back?”

Grantaire hesitated before saying, “No. If he wants to know so badly, he can call me.” He cleared his throat and changed the subject. “So how’s the work coming along?”

They talked for a few minutes more, and then hung up, but not before Jehan promised to keep Grantaire updated on anything with Enjolras, if anything did come up. Grantaire chucked his phone at the wall when they were done and laid back against his bed, groaning out loud. This was not how he had seen any of this going.

* * *

 

Everyday, Jehan called with the same report every time: Enjolras came by, rang the doorbell, asked if Grantaire was there, asked when he was going to be back, and when Jehan refused to tell him, left.

On the third or fourth day, Jehan was uncharacteristically silent, and he hazarded, “Can’t you just forgive him? I don’t know what you two were fighting about, nor, honestly, do I care, but he’s clearly making an effort.”

Grantaire snorted. “He’s making an effort to see you,” he pointed out. “He hasn’t made any actual effort to figure out where I am or call me or whatever. So clearly he’s not making that much of an effort.”

“So you’re not going to forgive him?”

There was a long pause as Grantaire worked out what exactly he wanted to say to that. Instead, he cleared his throat and told Jehan, “If he comes back tomorrow and asks, tell him that I’ll be home soon.”

* * *

 

Of course, all things come to an end, and Grantaire found himself boarding a plane to return home, thankfully leaving his family far behind. All he wanted was to get home and get horrendously drunk and forget that the past week actually happened.

He met Jehan at his place, and the first thing Jehan told him was, “Enjolras didn’t come by today.”

Grantaire didn’t think that it was possible for him to feel worse than he already did, and something of that must have shown on Jehan’s face because he hugged him tightly and said quickly, “But it’s early yet. He might still come over.”

“I don’t particularly care if he does,” Grantaire said, tiredly. “He can do what he wants. I’ve got more important things to worry about, like getting so drunk that I never have to think about that stupid blond asshole ever again.”

He didn’t feel the need to tell Jehan that he had missed Enjolras every single day, had lived for those phone calls from Jehan, had hoped and wished and wanted more than he normally allowed himself to, despite his protestations to the contrary. And now, of course, he would pay the price. So he told Jehan, “Thanks for everything, but I’ve got a bottle of whiskey or two with my name on them, so.”

He all but closed the door in Jehan’s face, trying to ignore how worried the other man looked.

* * *

 

While the first part of Grantaire’s plan went quite well, the second part was foiled by a rather insistent ringing of his doorbell at two o’clock in the morning. Once Grantaire had ascertained that this was not a cruel trick of his impending hangover, but instead someone actually pushing his doorbell in a staccato rhythm, he managed to roll out of bed (or, more accurately, off the couch), and stagger to the door.

His still mostly drunk brain was baffled to see Enjolras standing outside, shivering madly as his repeatedly pressed the doorbell. “What the  _fuck_  are you doing here?” Grantaire croaked, blinking at him as if he might disappear at any minute.

Enjolras’s teeth were chattering so hard that he barely managed to snap with very little venom in his tone, “I was just trying to see if you were here.”

“How long have you been here?” Grantaire asked, not making any move to let him inside, still more confused than anything.

Enjolras blinked and raised his arm up to look at his watch. “Um, like five hours now?”

“You’ve been standing outside my house for five hours?!” Grantaire yelped, grabbing Enjolras’s arm and yanking him inside, slamming the door after him and rubbing Enjolras’s arms vigorously. “Holy shit, you’ve got to be freezing. Why were you waiting outside for five hours?”

Enjolras tried to shrug and told him, “We never got to finish our argument.”

Sighing, Grantaire pulled him into the living room, sitting him down on the couch. “You’re a fucking idiot,” he snapped, still trying to get the blood circulating in Enjolras’s arms and hands. “You could have come back tomorrow. You’ll catch pneumonia and Joly will skin me alive. Why would you be so stupid?”

At first, a look of irritation flashed across Enjolras’s face, and he opened his mouth as if to start arguing. Then, he was wracked by a shiver and his expression fell into simple exhaustion. “Honestly? Because I missed you.”

Grantaire froze in place, his hands resting lightly on Enjolras’s arms. “You…what?”

Enjolras half-smiled. “You don’t need to sound so surprised.” Then he frowned. “Or maybe you do, after everything. I just…I didn’t expect to miss you, but then you weren’t here when I came by after our fight, and all I wanted was to see you and to apologize, but…and then Jehan wouldn’t tell me where you were or when you were coming back, and I…”

He trailed off, and Grantaire supplied, his voice low, “And you missed me.” Enjolras’s eyes snapped up to his and he nodded, stiffly. “Well, if it’s any consolation to you, you weren’t alone. I…I missed you, too.” Enjolras’s eyes lit up and he started smiling again, just slightly, and Grantaire laughed, a little ruefully. “I was so fucking mad at you that I didn’t think I would, but I should have known better. I always miss you.”

Enjolras looked suddenly earnest, and he bit his lip before asking, softly, “Just…the next time you…the next time you go away, can you just tell me? I don’t care what’s happened, if we’ve just had a huge fight and aren’t speaking to each other, if I’ve been dreadful to you, but if you could just tell me that you’re going. Please.”

“Why?” Grantaire scoffed, dropping his hands from Enjolras’s arms and looking away. “So that you won’t miss me then? Won’t bother stopping by here to see where I’m gone.”

“No,” Enjolras told him, his tone serious, and Grantaire glanced up at him. “So that at least the next time I won’t worry constantly whether you’ve gone away and will never come back.”

Grantaire stared at him, open-mouthed. “Wait,” he croaked, trying to process what Enjolras could possibly mean by that. “Is that actually thought? That I’d gone and wouldn’t be coming back?” Enjolras just shrugged, avoiding looking at Grantaire, who reached out and cupped his cheek, tilting his chin up to meet his eyes. “You stupid fucking idiot,” he sighed, his tone impossibly fond. “I could never leave you because  _I’m_  a stupid fucking idiot who will always stay with the idiot that I love, even if he doesn’t want to be with me.”

Now it was Enjolras’s turn to stare at him. “But of course I want to be with you,” he told him, sounding confused, but then he froze, his face turning red, and croaked out, “Wait, did you say you  _love_  me?”

In lieu of an answer, Grantaire kissed him, a deep, open-mouthed kiss, practically straddling him as he did. Enjolras moaned into the kiss and pulled Grantaire closer. Laughing slightly, Grantaire pulled away just slightly, pressing a kiss to first Enjolras’s right cheek, saying in a low voice, “I—”, then his left cheek “—love—” and then finally his lips, “—you.”

“Oh,” Enjolras said, rather stupidly. “Well, that’s good. Because I love you, too.”

Grantaire laughed again and kissed him once more, tangling a hand in Enjolras’s curls while his other hand unzipped Enjolras’s coat. “Jesus Christ, you’re wearing too many layers,” he groaned, biting at Enjolras’s lower lip. “I want you naked, like, now.”

Enjolras laughed as well, and told Grantaire in a serious sort of voice, “I bet I can get all these clothes off by the time we get to your bedroom.”

Grantaire nipped at Enjolras’s jaw. “I might very well take you up on that offer,” he murmured, smiling. “But what do I get if I win?”

“That’s the beauty of it,” Enjolras told him with a wicked grin. “Win or lose, the outcome is the same.”

In an instant, Grantaire was up and pulling Enjolras off the bed. “Come on. I’ll race you.”

* * *

 

The next morning was a lazy affair, neither man wanting to untangle himself from their comfortable pile of limbs and blankets. Finally, Enjolras managed to mostly free himself, and he stood, pressing a kiss to Grantaire’s forehead after he did. “Come back to bed,” Grantaire groaned, reaching out for him. “It’s cold without you.”

“I’m just going to go make coffee,” Enjolras told him, yawning deeply. He crossed over to the window, looking outside, and let out an amazed noise. “Holy shit, Grantaire, you should see it! It must have snowed at some point last night after you let me in.”

Snorting, Grantaire burrowed back into the covers. “It’s December, you idiot. It tends to snow in December.”

Enjolras made a face at him. “I know that, but it’s snowed a  _ton_. I mean, there must be ten to twelve inches out there.”

Grantaire murmured sleepily, “Come back to bed and I’ll show you ten to twelve inches in here.”

Enjolras turned around and raised an eyebrow at him. “Ten to twelve inches? Aren’t we optimistic this morning.” Grantaire gave him the finger and he just laughed, though he turned back to the snow. “Well, there’s no way I’m going anywhere, even if I wanted to. Not in that snow.”

He rejoined Grantaire on the bed, kissing him deeply, and Grantaire told him softly, “Maybe it’s Mother Nature’s way of making up for the past week.”

“Well, good,” Enjolras said, pressing Grantaire back against the bed and straddling him, kissing slowly down his neck and chest. “Because I’m not done making up for the past week either.”


End file.
